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ANNE BRONTE
THE TENANT
OF WILDFELL
HALL
Москва, 2018
ÓÄÊ 82-3
ÁÁÊ 84
Anne Bronte
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall / A. Bronte. – Ì. : T8RUGRAM /
Original, 2018
ISBN 978-5-521-06244-7
. – 598 ñ.
Gilbert Markham is deeply intrigued by Helen
Graham, a beautiful and secretive young widow who has
moved into nearby Wildfell Hall with her young son. He
is quick to offer Helen his friendship, but when her
reclusive behavior becomes the subject of local gossip
and speculation, Gilbert begins to wonder whether his
trust in her has been misplaced. It is only when she
allows Gilbert to read her diary that the truth is
revealed and the shocking details of her past.
Told with great immediacy, combined with wit and
irony,
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
is a powerfully
involving read.
ISBN 978-5-521-06244-7
© Original, 2018
ÓÄÊ 82-3
ÁÁÊ 84
BIC FC
BISAC FIC004000
© T8RUGRAM, оформление, 2018
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I ...................................................5
CHAPTER II .................................................19
CHAPTER III .................................................27
CHAPTER IV ................................................38
CHAPTER V .................................................50
CHAPTER VI ................................................56
CHAPTER VII ................................................67
CHAPTER VIII ...............................................82
CHAPTER IX .................................................89
CHAPTER X ................................................105
CHAPTER XI ...............................................112
CHAPTER XII ..............................................119
CHAPTER XIII .............................................132
CHAPTER XIV .............................................138
CHAPTER XV ..............................................147
CHAPTER XVI .............................................157
CHAPTER XVII ............................................173
CHAPTER XVIII ...........................................184
CHAPTER XIX .............................................200
CHAPTER XX ..............................................209
CHAPTER XXI .............................................219
CHAPTER XXII ............................................226
CHAPTER XXIII ...........................................247
3
ANNE BRONTE
CHAPTER XXIV ...........................................254
CHAPTER XXV ............................................266
CHAPTER XXVI ...........................................280
CHAPTER XXVII. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284
CHAPTER XXVIII ..........................................293
CHAPTER XXIX ............................................297
CHAPTER XXX .............................................305
CHAPTER XXXI ............................................320
CHAPTER XXXII ...........................................336
CHAPTER XXXIII ..........................................352
CHAPTER XXXIV ..........................................369
CHAPTER XXXV ...........................................376
CHAPTER XXXVI ..........................................384
CHAPTER XXXVII .........................................391
CHAPTER XXXVIII ........................................405
CHAPTER XXXIX ..........................................417
CHAPTER XL ..............................................435
CHAPTER XLI .............................................441
CHAPTER XLII ............................................451
CHAPTER XLIII ............................................458
CHAPTER XLIV ............................................467
CHAPTER XLV ............................................478
CHAPTER XLVI ............................................498
CHAPTER XLVII ...........................................508
CHAPTER XLVIII ..........................................525
CHAPTER XLIX ............................................533
CHAPTER L ................................................547
CHAPTER LI ...............................................560
CHAPTER LII ..............................................572
CHAPTER LIII .............................................580
4
CHAPTER I
You must go back with me to the autumn of 1827.
My father, as you know, was a sort of gentleman farmer in
– shire; and I, by his express desire, succeeded him in the same
quiet occupation, not very willingly, for ambition urged me
to higher aims, and self-conceit assured me that, in disregarding its voice, I was burying my talent in the earth, and hiding
my light under a bushel. My mother had done her utmost
to persuade me that I was capable of great achievements; but
my father, who thought ambition was the surest road to ruin,
and change but another word for destruction, would listen to
no scheme for bettering either my own condition, or that of
my fellow mortals. He assured me it was all rubbish, and exhorted me, with his dying breath, to continue in the good old
way, to follow his steps, and those of his father before him,
and let my highest ambition be to walk honestly through the
world, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, and to
transmit the paternal acres to my children in, at least, as flourishing a condition as he left them to me.
‘Well! – an honest and industrious farmer is one of the
most useful members of society; and if I devote my talents to
the cultivation of my farm, and the improvement of agriculture in general, I shall thereby benefit, not only my own immediate connections and dependants, but, in some degree,
5
ANNE BRONTE
mankind at large: – hence I shall not have lived in vain.’
With such reflections as these I was endeavouring to console
myself, as I plodded home from the fields, one cold, damp,
cloudy evening towards the close of October. But the gleam of
a bright red fire through the parlour window had more effect
in cheering my spirits, and rebuking my thankless repinings,
than all the sage reflections and good resolutions I had forced
my mind to frame; – for I was young then, remember – only
four-and-twenty – and had not acquired half the rule over
my own spirit that I now possess – trifling as that may be.
However, that haven of bliss must not be entered till I had
exchanged my miry boots for a clean pair of shoes, and my
rough surtout for a respectable coat, and made myself generally presentable before decent society; for my mother, with all
her kindness, was vastly particular on certain points.
In ascending to my room I was met upon the stairs by a
smart, pretty girl of nineteen, with a tidy, dumpy figure, a
round face, bright, blooming cheeks, glossy, clustering curls,
and little merry brown eyes. I need not tell you this was my
sister Rose. She is, I know, a comely matron still, and, doubtless, no less lovely – in your eyes – than on the happy day
you first beheld her. Nothing told me then that she, a few
years hence, would be the wife of one entirely unknown to
me as yet, but destined hereafter to become a closer friend
than even herself, more intimate than that unmannerly lad
of seventeen, by whom I was collared in the passage, on coming down, and well-nigh jerked off my equilibrium, and who,
in correction for his impudence, received a resounding whack
over the sconce, which, however, sustained no serious injury
6
THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL
from the infliction; as, besides being more than commonly
thick, it was protected by a redundant shock of short, reddish
curls, that my mother called auburn.
On entering the parlour we found that honoured lady
seated in her arm-chair at the fireside, working away at her
knitting, according to her usual custom, when she had nothing else to do. She had swept the hearth, and made a bright
blazing fire for our reception; the servant had just brought
in the tea-tray; and Rose was producing the sugar-basin and
tea-caddy from the cupboard in the black oak side-board, that
shone like polished ebony, in the cheerful parlour twilight.
‘Well! here they both are,’ cried my mother, looking round
upon us without retarding the motion of her nimble fingers and glittering needles. ‘Now shut the door, and come to
the fire, while Rose gets the tea ready; I’m sure you must be
starved; – and tell me what you’ve been about all day; – I like
to know what my children have been about.’
‘I’ve been breaking in the grey colt – no easy business that
– directing the ploughing of the last wheat stubble – for the
ploughboy has not the sense to direct himself – and carrying
out a plan for the extensive and efficient draining of the low
meadowlands.’
‘That’s my brave boy! – and Fergus, what have you been
doing?’
‘Badger-baiting.’
And here he proceeded to give a particular account of his
sport, and the respective traits of prowess evinced by the badger and the dogs; my mother pretending to listen with deep
attention, and watching his animated countenance with a de-
7
ANNE BRONTE
gree of maternal admiration I thought highly disproportioned
to its object.
‘It’s time you should be doing something else, Fergus,’ said
I, as soon as a momentary pause in his narration allowed me
to get in a word.
‘What can I do?’ replied he; ‘my mother won’t let me go to
sea or enter the army; and I’m determined to do nothing else
– except make myself such a nuisance to you all, that you will
be thankful to get rid of me on any terms.’
Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls. He
growled, and tried to look sulky, and then we all took our
seats at the table, in obedience to the thrice-repeated summons of Rose.
‘Now take your tea,’ said she; ‘and I’ll tell you what I’ve
been doing. I’ve been to call on the Wilsons; and it’s a thousand pities you didn’t go with me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward
was there!’
‘Well! what of her?’
‘Oh, nothing! – I’m not going to tell you about her; – only
that she’s a nice, amusing little thing, when she is in a merry
humour, and I shouldn’t mind calling her – ’
‘Hush, hush, my dear! your brother has no such idea!’ whispered my mother earnestly, holding up her finger.
‘Well,’ resumed Rose; ‘I was going to tell you an important
piece of news I heard there – I have been bursting with it ever
since. You know it was reported a month ago, that somebody
was going to take Wildfell Hall – and – what do you think?
It has actually been inhabited above a week! – and we never
knew!’
8
THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL
‘Impossible!’ cried my mother.
‘Preposterous!!!’ shrieked Fergus.
‘It has indeed! – and by a single lady!’
‘Good gracious, my dear! The place is in ruins!’
‘She has had two or three rooms made habitable; and there
she lives, all alone – except an old woman for a servant!’
‘Oh, dear! that spoils it – I’d hoped she was a witch,’ observed Fergus, while carving his inch-thick slice of bread and
butter. ‘Nonsense, Fergus! But isn’t it strange, mamma?’
‘Strange! I can hardly believe it.’
‘But you may believe it; for Jane Wilson has seen her. She
went with her mother, who, of course, when she heard of a
stranger being in the neighbourhood, would be on pins and
needles till she had seen her and got all she could out of her.
She is called Mrs. Graham, and she is in mourning – not widow’s weeds, but slightish mourning – and she is quite young,
they say, – not above five or six and twenty, – but so reserved!
They tried all they could to find out who she was and where
she came from, and, all about her, but neither Mrs. Wilson,
with her pertinacious and impertinent home-thrusts, nor
Miss Wilson, with her skilful manoeuvring, could manage to
elicit a single satisfactory answer, or even a casual remark, or
chance expression calculated to allay their curiosity, or throw
the faintest ray of light upon her history, circumstances, or
connections. Moreover, she was barely civil to them, and evidently better pleased to say ‘good-by,’ than ‘how do you do.’
But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her
soon, to offer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs,
as, though she is known to have entered the neighbourhood
9
ANNE BRONTE
early last week, she did not make her appearance at church on
Sunday; and she – Eliza, that is – will beg to accompany him,
and is sure she can succeed in wheedling something out of
her – you know, Gilbert, she can do anything. And we should
call some time, mamma; it’s only proper, you know.’
‘Of course, my dear. Poor thing! How lonely she must feel!’
‘And pray, be quick about it; and mind you bring me word
how much sugar she puts in her tea, and what sort of caps and
aprons she wears, and all about it; for I don’t know how I can
live till I know,’ said Fergus, very gravely.
But if he intended the speech to be hailed as a master-stroke
of wit, he signally failed, for nobody laughed. However, he was
not much disconcerted at that; for when he had taken a mouthful of bread and butter and was about to swallow a gulp of tea,
the humour of the thing burst upon him with such irresistible
force, that he was obliged to jump up from the table, and rush
snorting and choking from the room; and a minute after, was
heard screaming in fearful agony in the garden.
As for me, I was hungry, and contented myself with silently demolishing the tea, ham, and toast, while my mother and
sister went on talking, and continued to discuss the apparent
or non-apparent circumstances, and probable or improbable
history of the mysterious lady; but I must confess that, after
my brother’s misadventure, I once or twice raised the cup to
my lips, and put it down again without daring to taste the contents, lest I should injure my dignity by a similar explosion.
The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their
compliments to the fair recluse; and came back but little wiser
than they went; though my mother declared she did not re-
10
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